


Like Waves

by captaincalliope



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincalliope/pseuds/captaincalliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capable reflects on the past and tries to deal with her grief.</p>
<p>Written for the "Five Wives Week" on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Waves

They all dealt with grief in different ways. 

For Toast, she would pore herself into the remaining wordburgers as if she were trying to absorb the tomes of information into her very being, focusing on stories about medicine and survival skills and fixing things that are broken. She thinks that if she has the knowledge to deal with just about any problem, then the problems can be solved, and then there would be no more grief. It seems like a sensible solution to soul-wracking sadness, a very Toast response, but there are times where even she needs to lie down for a while and try not to think about anything in particular. No one faults her for that. 

For the Dag, she prays. It has become a sort of “go-to” coping mechanism for her, ever since that fateful day on the War Rig, thundering back to the place they came from. However, unlike that day, she prays to very specific deities to deal with whatever is causing her grief at the time; she leaves offerings to Hel, to pay tribute to the War Boy who saved them, a bundle of tulips and poppies left in the centre of a circle of candles. She’s constructed what seems to be a shrine, with daisies and forget-me-nots layered around a pair of bolt-cutters, because there was nothing else that belonged to the woman who fell from the Rig to remember her by. No one says anything about it, but they notice that she’ll replace the dead flowers with new ones and use the old ones as mulch for the new, a fact that pleases the Dag in ways she cannot quite explain. 

For Cheedo, she cries. She cries, big fat tears that soak her Vuvalini-crafted handkerchief, thinking about everyone they lost along the way. These bouts of grief don’t last for very long – with the monumental task of fixing the Citadel, there are always things needing to be done – but when they strike, they leave her shaking and sobbing, almost as hard as she did before they left for the Green Place. Almost. No one thinks any less of her for it, though, and are quite willing to be her shoulder to cry on, if it brings her comfort. It always does. 

For Capable, she would try to use work to take her mind off it, try to tire herself out so much so that there was simply no room for thinking about it. There’s so much to do anyway, especially with building permanent homes for the Wretched (they need to find a better name for the group, because they are not Wretched, not anymore), as well as ensuring everyone has their fair share of food and water. It has been difficult, trying to undo the damage that the Immortan has done, but it is a task that all the Sisters and the Council are dedicated to, wholeheartedly. 

(This was all that remained of Angharad – her ideas, her belief that they could be more than just things – and so Capable fiercely spread those words for all to hear, until her voice went hoarse.)

One of the most difficult aspects of rebuilding the Citadel, the Council came to find, was not fixing the actual structure of the town but the people themselves. It was understandable how some would still cling to the ideas of the past, frightened of what this new and uncertain future would bring. At least during the Old Order, you knew were you stood, you knew that to be granted eternal glory, you had to perform a shiny sacrifice in the Immortan’s name. Now, there was a Council, not an entirely foreign concept to the War Boys who had understood hierarchies and power struggles all too well, but it was a concept that caused the diehard faction no small amount of unease. They had been told their redeemer was immortal, that he would escort them to the gates above, and for it to be revealed as a lie… 

Some would rather live in denial than accept the new world around them.

... ... ...

The breaking point for Capable had been when she went into the Vault to find Angharad's words painted over, obscured by an obscene amount of motor oil. 

It was obvious none of the other Sisters had done it - they kept a wide berth around the letters on the floor, out of respect - so to her, the culprit could have only been one of the Boys. She was shocked to find that even the sentences above the doorframe and in their rooms were blacked out, her sources of comfort becoming tarnished before her very eyes. The idea that he knowingly wiped out a part of her memories, sneaking into her private quarters to do so, made her see red. 

Without even thinking about it, she rushed down to the Garages, oblivious to the strange looks she was receiving by her other sisters, walking up to the Vault. 

The buzz of power-tools faded into white noise as she marched over to a group of boys, talking about something in loud voices over the clanking of metal. It was only when she was a few feet away that she could make out what they were discussing. 

"... Not a single guard up there, what the hell are they thinking?"

"What the bloody hell are you thinking?"

"Waltzing around the Vault, leaving your grease everywhere, what gives?" 

"Do you want to get into trouble?" 

"What trouble? It's not like I'll get caught. Those were stupid words, anyway..." 

It had been a while since she had allowed herself to feel this amount of rage. The last time she remembered being this angry was the first night after she had been traded off into Joe’s growing harem, where she realised that this would be the place were she would live for the rest of her life. Angharad had been the one to calm her down, back then, even though she held onto anger more than Capable ever had in her entire life. She soothed her, until the morning light began bathing the two in a dull glow, where they both fell asleep on the same bed. 

Angharad’s absence just seemed to make her angrier. It was a painful reminder, what they lost along the way, and this War Boy had the audacity to smear what she had left behind like it was nothing. That was the last straw, she decided, just before she tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

The moment he turned around, she landed a punch to his face that made him hunch over. He seemed surprised, though whether it was simply him not expecting the pain or not expecting her to be the one dealing it, she couldn't quite say. When he finally lifted his head to face her, she could see his nose was bleeding, which he gingerly touched with his black hands. 

"How dare you? Those were her words!" she screamed, landing another hit to his belly and making him double-up, groaning at the pain. Before the situation could escalate any further, she felt a cold hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her rage.

"That's enough," Furiosa said, levelling her gaze at the boys before her, who scrambled to get their friend from the floor and out of the imperator's sight. 

Capable turned to her, suddenly quite tired out, and when she told her that they had to talk, she made no effort to resist walking back upstairs with her. 

... ... ... 

The two of them found themselves back in the Vault, with Capable sitting down near the bottom of the stairs and Furiosa standing in front of her. It was only then that she realised what she had done, what she swore to herself and Angharad that she would never do: she became violent. She could have just kicked herself over the hypocrisy of defending her pacifist beliefs by punching someone in the face, and she felt a sense of shame wash over her for her rash decision. 

The imperator's eyes lingered on the mess of the floor, still uncleaned, and remembered the time when one of the Sisters told her that they had sent a message to Joe before they escaped. She just didn't realise that it would be so literal. 

"Those were her words," the Sister croaked, her voice gravelly with barely-contained emotion. 

"They still are," Furiosa replied, finally able to tear her gaze away from the mess around them. 

“She would be so disappointed in me,” Capable said, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. 

“What makes you say that?” she asked. 

“I haven’t let myself go like that since the night I was taken from my home,” she replied, fiercely wiping the tears from her face. “Angharad said, ‘no unnecessary killing, no brute force.’ I don’t think she’d be too pleased about what I’ve done today.”

Furiosa took a few moments to reflect upon the words just said, before coming to a grand conclusion. “I don't think so.” 

“How can you say that? After everything she did for us…” Capable took a breath, before powering on, “And I’m just over here, undoing all her hard work.”

“By getting into one fight?” The imperator quirked an eyebrow at that, and when Capable didn’t reply, she carefully sat down next to her and placed her right hand on the Sister’s. 

“Listen, Capable, I didn’t know Angharad the way you do, but I think she would be proud of you for surviving this long. I know I am,” Furiosa confessed quietly, briefly looking away from Capable. 

There was a minute of silence between the two, as they processed how tender this conversation was becoming. Perhaps it had been so long since the imperator had someone to talk to like this that it slipped out when the Sister opened up about herself. Perhaps this was just another side to the fierce warrior, who could scrap with the best of them and talk down a feral stranger in the space of three sentences. Either way, it was the first time that Capable could remember Furiosa saying any of their names to them, and that had to count for something. 

“Using diplomacy to solve all of our problems… it’s an admirable quality,” she continued, as if there had been no thoughtful pause between her words as she ruminated their state of affairs. “But out here, in the Wasteland, it’s just not practical. Not every time.”

That made sense to Capable, especially considering how Furiosa was able to help them escape. The road to becoming one of the Immortan’s right-hand men must have been filled with battles and scuffles and hard choices. Even with her way with words, she somehow can’t imagine the imperator using that particular skill when it came to dealing with the War Boys, so tainted by the filth Joe had used to poison their minds. 

(Not all were so tainted, a small voice in her head says, a particular boy coming into the forefront of her mind, but she refused to think about that now.)

Either way, the fact that Furiosa was willing to support the new system of councils and talks and assemblies was a testament to how she truly felt about the Sisters. It was the harder route, no doubt, to take proper care of the citizens of Citadel instead of Joe's way, but it’s one that she had no hesitation taking. That had meant something to Angharad, and by extension, it had meant something to Capable too. 

"It's thanks to you and the others that we can try for any diplomacy at all," the imperator said. "It will be a tough fight, though, trying to rebuild the Citadel, but you won't be alone."

Furiosa stood up, putting her hand on Capable's shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting way.

"No one will ever forget her words," the imperator promised, a determined gleam in her eyes. "No one." 

"Thank you," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I... should probably wait a little while before going anywhere." 

Furiosa nodded, letting go of the Sister, and began to walk out of the Vault to give her some space to think. Suddenly, she stopped, as if something just occurred to her, and she turned to face the other woman again. 

“Look...” she paused, looking almost fidgety under Capable’s gaze. “If you ever need to… let off some steam or anything... I’d be open to being your sparring partner.”

The Sister looked thoughtful for a few moments, then nodded at her. This was how she would deal with the grief, with a mutual understanding, an exercise that they both wanted to do. It wouldn't be like the fight before, which came without warning and nearly got out of control, but something she could do on her own terms. 

The thought of it gave Capable hope.

... ... ... 

The very next day, she awoke to the sight of clean floors and walls, free from any trace of grease. She felt satisfied, like a wrong had been righted, and went outside to greet the new morning. 

It was then where she saw the words, Angharad's words, painted over the skull-like formation in the cliffs for all to see, and began to feel at peace.


End file.
